"Jerry, what the hell are you doing out here?"
As soon as Deuce stepped back onto The Piece of Spadille, he heard Jerry's excited shouts echoing across the water and witnessed the considerable commotion on the sea surface—massive water formations dancing through the air like something out of a fantasy.
"Oh, nothing special," Jerry replied with a grin, still admiring the glittering water droplets falling from the sky. "Just testing out some new techniques. Want to give it a try yourself?"
He turned to face his returning crewmate, noticing the bag in Deuce's hands. "You're back pretty early today. Getting tired of all those happy dinners surrounded by pretty nurses?"
Jerry's teasing smile was unmistakable, and Deuce felt his face redden slightly at the implication.
"Dinners, my ass," Deuce muttered, shaking his head. "Some of the crew members returned from an expedition today and brought back local specialties from various islands they visited."
He held up the bag he was carrying. "I figured you might be getting sick of eating nothing but grilled fish and whatever random stuff you catch, so I brought some real food back for us to share."
After giving Jerry a sideways glance, Deuce tossed the bag over to him.
"Hey! Boss Deuce, you're back too?"
A cheerful voice called out from the direction of the ship's bow. Both Jerry and Deuce turned to see a familiar figure in a distinctive skull costume hopping aboard—Skull had returned from his own adventures, also carrying a bag of what appeared to be food.
"I just saw Boss Jerry out here with that mischievous grin on his face," Skull said as he staggered over to join them. "Did I interrupt something important?"
"Not at all," Jerry replied with enthusiasm. "Actually, your timing is perfect!"
With a pleased expression, Jerry opened the package Deuce had given him and glanced at the bag in Skull's hands. "Is yours the same kind of stuff? Let's eat together—the more the merrier!"
"Oh, absolutely! Come on, come on, I'm already starving!" Skull exclaimed, his excitement evident even through his skull mask.
"Deuce, get over here and join us!" Jerry called out.
The food they'd brought back consisted of specialties from various locations throughout the New World—delicacies that the Whitebeard Pirates had collected during their travels. Most of these treats came from islands that flew Whitebeard's protective flag, places where the crew could dock safely and sample local cuisine without worrying about hostile reception.
"This stuff tastes incredible," Jerry said, his mouth full of various exotic foods. He turned to his two crewmates with genuine curiosity. "By the way, how are you two holding up with your assignments? Are you getting used to working with the Whitebeard Pirates?"
Deuce chewed thoughtfully on a particularly sticky sweet before responding. "Well, I'm mainly focused on learning new techniques and expanding my medical knowledge while helping treat injured crew members."
He paused to swallow before continuing. "I have to say, the medical team here is genuinely impressive. They have to be, considering they're responsible for maintaining the health of thousands of pirates, plus dealing with Whitebeard's own..."
Deuce trailed off, choosing his words carefully. "Whitebeard is clearly beginning to show his age, but he's still powerful beyond belief—like some kind of monster."
"But hey, at least the nurses aren't getting old, right?" Jerry interrupted with a knowing grin, making a encouraging gesture with his fist. "Keep up the good work, Deuce!"
Jerry deliberately chose not to comment further on the man who held the title of "Strongest Man in the World." Some topics were better left alone, especially when they were essentially prisoners trying to prove their worth.
"Boss Jerry, let me tell you about all the amazing stuff I've collected over the past few days!" Skull chimed in, his excitement bubbling over as he began describing his recent acquisitions with obvious pride.
"That's excellent, Skull," Jerry replied, noticing something different about his enthusiastic crewmate. "Did you even manage to upgrade your favorite pistol?"
Jerry's observant eye had caught sight of the new weapon at Skull's waist—clearly an improvement over his previous equipment. It seemed that even though his companions were scattered across different assignments, they were all managing to thrive in their new environment.
"Since everyone's doing well and we're all here together," Jerry continued, raising an imaginary cup, "let's have a proper drink to celebrate!"
"Yes! Let's do it!" Skull enthusiastically agreed.
As the three friends chatted and laughed together, sharing stories of their recent experiences and enjoying the feast of exotic foods, the sun gradually set behind them and the moon quietly rose to take its place in the darkening sky.
This had become their new routine over the past several days. The members of the Spade Pirates were slowly but surely adapting to their current lifestyle, even while being dispersed across the various divisions of the Whitebeard fleet. Each evening, when circumstances allowed, they would gather on The Piece of Spadille to reconnect and share their experiences.
Meanwhile, Ace continued his relentless and increasingly futile campaign against Whitebeard.
At the beginning of their captivity, Ace's approach had been almost manic. Day or night, whenever he was conscious and mobile, he would devise new strategies to confront the Emperor—sometimes through direct challenges, other times through elaborate sneak attacks that invariably ended in spectacular failure.
But as the days passed, something began to change in Ace's attitude. Perhaps it was seeing that his crew members were not only safe but actually thriving in their new roles. Perhaps it was something Deuce had said to him during one of their medical sessions.
Or perhaps it was the gradual realization that Whitebeard, despite being challenged and attacked on a daily basis, consistently chose to defeat rather than kill him. This restraint was not lost on Ace, who had grown up understanding the brutal realities of pirate life.
Whatever the cause, Ace slowly began to shift from his initial angry and awkward defiance toward something approaching calm self-reflection. Whether he was willing to admit it or not, the Spade Pirates had been the ones to initiate this conflict. They had deliberately invaded Whitebeard's territory and challenged him to battle. And when they lost—as perhaps they should have expected—Whitebeard had chosen mercy over the revenge that pirate law would have justified.
From the perspective of pirate honor and maritime justice, Ace was beginning to realize that his continued antagonistic behavior was not in line with his usual principles. There was something fundamentally pointless about persistently attacking someone who had already demonstrated both their superiority and their magnanimity.
After considerable internal struggle, Ace finally made a decision. He approached Thatch, the Commander of the 4th Division, and asked him to serve as a mediator for a formal conversation with Whitebeard.
The meeting took place on the deck of the Moby Dick, with Thatch standing nearby as Ace faced the massive figure of the world's strongest man.
"First of all," Ace began, his voice steady despite the complexity of emotions he was clearly wrestling with, "I want to thank you for not killing me. But I haven't accepted that I'll always lose to you!"
He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing. "Also... well, you've been feeding us. Giving us food and shelter when you could have just thrown us overboard."
Ace's expression was complicated as he stared at Whitebeard's broad back. "Anyway, I'll remember this kindness, and I'm definitely going to repay it somehow in the future."
He scratched his head, clearly struggling to articulate his feelings. "The thing is, if you want to eat, you have to work first. That's been a basic truth since I was a kid, even though I'm not sure what exactly I can do around here that would be useful."
"Oh?" Thatch interjected, his eyes lighting up with interest. "Does this mean you want to join us officially and become one of Pops' sons?"
"Hell no!" Ace quickly crossed his arms in denial. "I just don't want to be a freeloader. I want to repay the debt I owe you, so let me work for it."
Seeing that Thatch had misunderstood his intentions, Ace hurried to clarify his position.
"I see," Thatch nodded slowly. "So then... what exactly can you do?"
"Help you light fires for cooking?" Ace suggested uncertainly. "No, wait, that kind of basic work wouldn't even cover the cost of the food I eat. Let me think of something more substantial that I could contribute."
Faced with Thatch's practical question, Ace was forced to confront the uncomfortable possibility that he might not have many marketable skills beyond fighting.
Worried that Thatch might assign him to some menial or embarrassing task, Ace quickly added, "I want to do something significant enough that you'll owe me a favor! That way..."
"What happens then?" Thatch asked with genuine curiosity. "Say we owe you a favor—what would you want to do with it?"
"If you owe me a favor," Ace explained with the kind of logic that only made sense to him, "then I can continue challenging Whitebeard openly without it being dishonorable!"
Ace's wonderfully twisted reasoning was both outrageous and somehow perfectly logical within his own moral framework.
Hearing this, Thatch found himself at a complete loss for words. He couldn't decide whether to be speechless or impressed by the sheer audacity of the proposal.
"You're completely turning normal logic upside down!" he finally managed to sputter.
This novel concept of working, eating, and fighting the boss simultaneously was unlike anything Thatch had encountered in his years with the Whitebeard Pirates. It was so unexpected that it almost opened the door to an entirely new understanding of employment relations.
"Gurarara!"
Whitebeard's distinctive laughter suddenly boomed across the deck. The Emperor, who had been standing with his back to them throughout the conversation, turned around with obvious amusement and looked down at Ace, who maintained his matter-of-fact expression as if his proposal was the most reasonable thing in the world.
"Little brat, is that really what you want to say?" Whitebeard asked, his massive frame shaking with continued laughter.
"Yeah, that's right!" Ace grinned up at the towering figure. "If you agree to it, then we have a deal!"
"Hey, hey, wait a minute!" Thatch interjected desperately, looking back and forth between the two as they stared at each other with apparent mutual understanding. "Pops, you can't just agree to this! It's going to make things incredibly difficult for the rest of us to manage!"
He turned to Ace with exasperation. "And you! You've challenged him dozens of times already and gotten completely demolished every single time. Don't you think it's time to admit defeat and try a different approach?"
But both Ace and Whitebeard seemed to be completely ignoring whether anyone else could tolerate their arrangement, focused entirely on their own bizarre negotiation.
"So what should I do first?" Ace asked, looking up at Whitebeard expectantly while completely disregarding Thatch's protests.
"Go wash the dishes, Fire Brat! Gurarara!" Whitebeard replied with obvious amusement, already beginning to walk toward the ship's cabin. His voice carried back to them on the wind as he disappeared from view.
"I'll do something really impressive for you soon!" Ace called after him.
"I'm looking forward to it!" came Whitebeard's distant reply.
Watching the Emperor's retreating figure, Ace clenched and unclenched his fist, a mixture of determination and satisfaction on his face.
"Well, that settles it," he said with evident relief.
"Settles what?!" Thatch demanded, standing nearby with the expression of a man who had completely lost faith in the sanity of everyone around him.